Don't Label Me
by Helen w
Summary: Carter thinks about the labels he maybe given. (Carter angstCarby fuzz)


Don't Label Me  
  
Rating - PG, just on the safe side.  
  
Pairing - Carby  
  
Category - romance/angst and futurefic, I guess.  
  
Disclaimer - I don't own these characters, nor do I claim to.  
  
Spoilers - minor season 9 spoilers.  
  
Summary - Carter thinks about the labels he may be given  
  
Beta's - I don't have one, any volunteers? My addy is in my profile :)  
  
Feedback - yes please, tis only my second ER fic, so any reviews are welcome, click on the button at the bottom of the page, or you can mail me  
  
Author's notes - I only started watching ER from season 6, so I apologise if any of the things Carter expresses in this fic don't correspond with what he may have said in the show. Any mistakes are mine, I'm not to good with comma's :). I'm thinking of doing a version of this regarding Abby, but it is in the 'brainstorming' stage at the moment. Thanks to the guys at the coffee and pie board, for answering my obscure questions :) and listening (ok reading if you wanna be technical) my incessant ramblings.  
  
***  
  
Doctor  
It's the first thing people notice, whether it is because of the white coat, or my name in writing. It immediately conjures up this stereotype of an altruistic healer of the sick, someone who can do no wrong. The white coat gives an image of purity, cleanliness. A person who is waiting to fix other peoples problems, cure their illnesses, repair their lives. But it doesn't stop, this expectation, which makes it even more devastating when I can't fix a problem, be it a patients illness, or in my own life, because it never stops, people always need saving, but it's hard to find time to look at your own life, it's delicate balance between becoming absorbed in your work, or becoming absorbed in yourself. In the past I got so caught up in other peoples problems, that I forgot to look at myself, to save myself, to stop myself falling. Ironically, I think it was also my saving grace: medicine, helping people, my raison d'etre, my reason to get better, to stay clean, because I knew that I couldn't give it up: the sense of pride when you finally realise after a long tiring day, that it was all worth it, because you had made a difference.  
  
Addict  
  
When I told people, they took it so personally, they felt so much . . . guilt, I suppose, as if it was their responsibility, their fault. But I was . . . am the addict. I remember sitting in my more lucid moments, and thinking that I need help, someone to help me. And on my more stronger days I would try to stay clean, really try, but it never lasted, I always craved it, I couldn't cope without it, I couldn't go through a day clean, it was too much. If I'm honest, those months are a blur, I can't distinguish between what was a figment of my imagination and what was real, because the drugs were my only reality. I can see now how bad it got, but back then, in my mind I wasn't like them, not like the other people sitting in Rehab in Atlanta, I was different; I had justification, a reason. Even after I had gone through the programme, worked through the steps I still felt so . . . detached. I still didn't see it, the addict in me. Now I do: an addiction is an addiction, you crave the substance, you need it to get through another day. I try to avoid painkillers now, I just can't risk it. Not after everything that I've built up, everything that I've worked so hard for. And I guess I'm at peace with that side of myself, I understand that I am and always will be an addict.  
  
Rich  
  
You know, people assume, because I had money growing up, I had everything, but that's a lie. They don't see me sitting by my dying brothers bedside, try to understand why. They don't see me in tears, begging my parents not to send me away to boarding school, so soon after his death. They don't see me surrounded by Gamma's servants, but still so lonely. They don't see me so desperately trying to connect with my father at his mothers, my gammas, funeral. Trying so hard but failing so miserably. They just don't see that.  
  
Husband  
  
I remember watching her walking down the aisle, with Eric giving her away, chastising myself for thinking that we'd never get here, reminding myself to have faith in something as tacky as destiny. Manic mothers and brothers, jungle adventures, ex's, addictions and still in the 24th hour, at 11.05pm, I found myself standing there, still drawn to her, wanting her, needing her, loving her . . . marrying her.  
  
Father  
  
In my more optimistic moments, I had dared to dream about marrying her, our perfect wedding, but kids. . . It was such a delicate subject, one I didn't dare to bring up. Until one day, her birthday no less, she told me about the abortion; when, where, why. We had worked through it, I had tried to understand. Then she told me she was pregnant again. I had looked into her face fearing the look in her eyes, but instead I saw pure unadulterated joy. It all led up to one moment; the tears, the fights, the laughter. They all led up to that one moment when I held my daughter, and we were a family.  
  
**** 


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